


All the Way Out

by Footloose



Series: Loaded March EXTRAS [8]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Military
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-26
Updated: 2012-02-26
Packaged: 2017-10-31 19:09:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/347429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Footloose/pseuds/Footloose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It wasn't the way that Arthur meant for his father to find out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All the Way Out

**Author's Note:**

  * For [I_M_B00](https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_M_B00/gifts).



> I've [opened up the floor to questions](http://loaded-march.livejournal.com/12506.html) or _want-to-see_ scenes in anything currently completed in the Loaded March series so far (up to Part 7).
> 
>  
> 
> i_m_b00 prompted the following scene(s): _Arthur coming out to his father._
> 
> In R&R, there was a reference to how Arthur was "outed" to his father by Olaf Niedermann. There were a few details, but here's the entire scene.
> 
>  
> 
> This occurs well before the Loaded March series begins.

* * *

There was no better way to christen a new house than with one big, _invite the whole school totally rocking_ party the very first time that the parental units were away. Lucky for Arthur and Morgana, they only had to worry about one parental unit, and Uther Pendragon was somewhere in France, finalizing a business deal. Arthur was pretty sure that Uther was making a new acquisition in the process -- a new warehouse or manufacturing plant or maybe even a R &D lab, but he wasn't sure, and he didn't care.

They were a few months shy of graduation, and while Arthur wasn't quite certain who had come up with the idea -- Morgana claimed credit because she decorated, although there wasn't anything really to decorate in the first place -- Arthur thought he should be recognized as the more ingenious of the two, since he planned out everything including who would pick up the alcohol to the discreet cleaning service who would arrive at oh-seven-hundred on the dot to start bulldozing the wreckage. It wouldn't take them more than a few hours, which meant that Morgana and Arthur would have plenty of time to take care of their hangovers and do a walk-through the house, in case the cleaners missed anything, before the Colonel came home.

Inviting the whole school consisted of word-of-mouth, but where the Pendragons were concerned, word-of-mouth meant Gospel-of-God if it was Arthur doing the asking, and the Devil's Silver Tongue if it was Morgana. If the way the house was filled to bursting, the whole damn school had shown up.

The speakers were blaring rock and roll, the main room was filled with dancers, and in order for Arthur to get from the kitchen to the outside patio and the pool, he needed to go with the flow. He held his plastic cup in the air and danced his way across, pausing to grind against Gwaine when no one was paying too much attention. Those few minutes of distraction was all the crowd needed to block Arthur's way to the patio.

"Need to get out there?" Perceval asked -- and _where had he come from_ , Arthur wondered. Perceval was tall, broad-shouldered, and, well, big, and those three things didn't exactly favour stealth, even with the music rattling the speakers.

"Got to keep an eye on Morgana," Arthur said, even though he knew perfectly well that his sister could take care of herself. It was Leon that he was worried about, because Morgana -- the hussy -- had invited a date, and her date was some fellow attending uni and looking for easy tail. What Arthur really wanted was an excuse to throw the pillock out of the house so that Leon could have an even chance with his silly, stubborn, _stupid_ sister, who was bloody _blind_ to a good thing.

"I'll give you a hand," Perceval said. 

"Thanks, mate," Arthur said, and gestured for Perceval to go ahead and forge a path for them, but Perceval bent down instead, grabbed Arthur, and tossed him in a fireman's carry over his shoulder. Arthur barely saved his beer from a catastrophic spill. The beer was spectacularly important. The beer was critical to the party's success.

Arthur was deposited next to the grill, steadied by Perceval's heavy hand. He took a long look around while testing the state of his beer, but there was no sign of Morgana. "You see her?"

"Talking to Kay," Perceval said, leaning down to point. Arthur didn't see Morgana's "date", but he spotted Leon off to the side, mooning and moping. Really, the man needed a good smack in the head.

"Jesus. When is he ever going to make a move?"

Perceval shrugged. "I need a beer. I'm going back inside."

"Keep Gwaine out of the liquor cabinet!" Arthur shouted after him. Perceval raised a hand in acknowledgement, and Arthur dimly wondered if the lock he'd put on would hold against Perceval. He knew how persuasive Gwaine could be, and he knew Perceval would have _no trouble whatsoever_ cracking it open. The two of them together were a bad combination.

Arthur continued to make his rounds around the house, waving at people and smashing cups and saving the cast-iron vase from certain destruction -- not that the cast-iron vase would get cracked, but his footie teammate needed a bit of rescuing after ogling the wrong girl's cleavage for too long. He groaned inwardly when he caught a couple of kids fucking in the guest room and mentally congratulated himself for having the forethought to lock everyone's bedrooms -- in particular the Colonel's. He wouldn't want to have to explain condoms in Uther's en-suite bathroom.

It was well past midnight when Arthur allowed himself a moment's respite to sit down. The younger crowd had taken off bit by bit -- something to do with curfews -- while the drunks had gotten carted off in taxis. Between Kay and Perceval and Leon, Arthur had chased off anyone dealing or using drugs -- he didn't want to imagine the hell he'd be in if his father caught wind of the party, _and_ hearing about the drugs. The music had been turned down in consideration of the neighbours and to avoid the police coming by, Morgana had tossed out her "date" when she caught him snogging one of the girls in the lower levels, and there was still plenty of beer.

Arthur was already chalking the party up as one of the year's best in a fit of misplaced modesty and was already thinking ahead to the future graduation party, thinking that he should have a smaller one, invite only their year, and maybe see about using the lake house instead where everyone could sleep over and not worry about having to drive home, when he felt someone collapse on the couch next to him.

"Great party, Arthur," Vivian said, leaning in so close that Arthur nearly suffocated from her perfume. 

"I aim to please. I'm glad you're having fun," he said. He subtly shifted away from her, but she slid closer. "Can I get you another drink?"

"Why, Arthur, I'd think you're trying to get me drunk for something," Vivian said, her eyes sparkling.

"Hardly," Arthur said. He glanced at her outfit -- he had no idea how her father let her out of the house wearing a corset that barely covered her tits, never mind how she'd managed to keep from having a wardrobe malfunction all night long, or even how she hadn't forced at least half of their level to succumb to her dubious Dominatrix charms by now. It wasn't until she pressed her breasts against his arm that Arthur figured out what she meant by _something_. "Shite, Viv, you know I'm not --"

"Come _on_ Arthur. You just haven't been with the right girl," Vivian purred. Her purr made Arthur shudder in unparalleled disgust.

"And you're the right girl?" Arthur asked, rolling his eyes. "Come on, Viv. You know I'm not -- you know I like guys."

Although he wasn't exactly out of the closet -- could one even be in the closet when they had never been in it in the first place? -- Arthur was _discreet_. He'd gone out with a few girls -- but always in groups with all of his friends, confusing the matter so much that the girls who'd joined them were never entirely sure who was their date in the first place. He never went to parties with a date, not to a dance, not to the movies, not to anything. When he was asked out, he turned girls down as gently as possible, making no secret _why_ , but he couldn't remember the last time someone had been as persistent as Vivian.

"Of course you do. You're around your friends all the time. It's made you confused. You like girls, too," Vivian said -- and Arthur was struck too dumb, jaw open at Vivian's complete _obliviousness_ to stop her before she climbed into his lap, straddling him. "I'll show you just how much you like them."

"Fucking hell, Viv, get off of me," Arthur said, spreading his arms as far away from Vivian as he could. Also, he didn't want to spill his beer. He was halfway to picking her up and dropping her into someone else's lap when she leaned in and kissed him.

It was a wet, open-mouthed, tongue-infested kiss that inspected his teeth for cavities and massaged his tonsils, and it was the grossest, most disgusting kiss Arthur had ever experienced -- and that was saying something, because the number one worst kiss on his list had been when his frisky great-aunt had pinched his cheeks, told him that she _remembered when you were yea high_ , and proceeded to French him. Arthur backed into the couch, Vivian followed, and he heard hooting and hollering and encouraging shouts. Somewhere in there, some plonker took the precious beer out of his hand.

Up close, Arthur could tell that Vivian was wearing what probably amounted to a quarter inch of makeup, that she had a pimple on her right cheek the size of a volcanic crater despite the fancy trowel work with the concealer, and that the mascara had turned her eyelashes into a sticky glob not unlike the spit that was dribbling down his chin. When the kiss broke, Vivian smiled at him in triumph, gave someone behind the couch a _see? I told you I could turn him_ look, and started grinding her hips.

"Lap dance! Lap dance!" Someone shouted.

"Take it off!"

Arthur grabbed Vivian -- _oh God_ \-- and tried to shove her off, but she was stronger than she looked. Her thighs clung to him like the suckers on an octopus' tentacles, and she was gripping the back of the couch over Arthur's head as if it was a lifeline. "Get off, Viv."

Vivian looked at him with a big broad grin and shook her head. "Not yet, Arthur. When I'm done, you won't want anyone else."

She shoved her breasts into his face. There was more hooting and hollering and clapping. Arthur tried again to push her away, and was about to point out that he didn't even have an erection -- that Vivian had probably destroyed his ability to have an erection ever again, he was being so badly traumatized -- when a very angry baritone barked, "What the _fuck_ are you doing to my daughter, Pendragon?"

"I'm not doing --" _anything_ , Arthur tried to say, frantic and desperate, but Vivian's corset chose this moment to release the hounds, and he ended up with a mouth full of nipple and breast, and _oh, God, he was going to have nightmares for weeks_ \--

Vivian was torn out of Arthur's lap in a rush of _freedom_ and cold air and relief. The relief was the shortest-lived of all. Vivian was upside-down in a plush chair across the way, the room had been cleared of almost everyone, and Olaf Niedermann launched himself at Arthur.

Arthur scrambled out of the way. The couch toppled over from the impact of Olaf's momentum. 

"It's not what it looks like!" Arthur blurted out.

"Oh, so you didn't have my daughter on your penis?"

In the category of things that Arthur didn't want to ever hear on any adult's lips ever again, it was my daughter on your penis. Arthur gaped at him.

"Yes --" Arthur dodged Olaf's lunge. "But no, not like you think!"

"You don't know what I'm thinking!"

Olaf was faster than he looked. Arthur tried to keep furniture between them until he could inch toward a conveniently-placed exit which were all inconveniently placed right now, and he'd have a word with his father about the horrible layout of this house he'd picked for them to move into later. He dodged a flying fist, retreated from a barrage of blows, blocked the rest, and finally made it out to another room, moving as quick as he could.

The party was at an abrupt end, now, except most people didn't know it yet. The people who had been there when Olaf had first burst in had scattered, but they hadn't gone much further than a couple of rooms over. Arthur put the foolhardy between him and Olaf, but pretty soon people clued in on what was going on and fled. Most of them left, but those in his level at school stuck around to see how the story was going to end -- even if they didn't know how the story started in the first place.

Arthur heard the crash of furniture. Of doors slamming open and closed. Of someone shouting behind him.

"Why are you running?" Gwaine shouted, holding up his beer cup in salute.

"Good question!" Kay asked. "If he had balls, he'd hold his ground!"

"I have bloody fucking balls!" Arthur shouted -- and that was when Olaf tackled him. Arthur landed with Olaf's full weight on top of him and instinctively grappled his way free. He rolled to his feet, and held out a hand. "You have it all wrong, Mister Niedermann! I'm not interested in Vivian!"

"How dare you say she's not good enough for you!" Olaf feinted left, struck right, and Arthur held his ribs, dancing out of reach, blocking the next three blows.

"She's perfect! For _someone else_ ," Arthur said, but he realized too late that he'd said exactly the wrong thing.

Olaf chased after him.

Tripped him up on the way up the stairs.

Dragged him down the last few steps.

Twisted him around.

Tried to stomp his package.

Arthur grabbed Olaf's foot before it could land, pushed it aside, tossing Olaf off balance. He rolled to his feet and grabbed the telephone on the table next to the stairs, throwing it at Olaf. It struck clean in his chest, and Olaf staggered back.

"I swear nothing happened!"

"That's because I stopped it!"

Morgana came out of nowhere and jumped on Olaf's back, pounding him on the head with her fist. "Leave my brother alone!"

Arthur wished he could stay and admire the sight of Morgana beating up Olaf Niedermann, but his amusement lasted all of three seconds when Leon grabbed Morgana and hauled her off before Olaf could hurt her, too.

Arthur ran into the living room. Olaf caught up to him there. Fighting Olaf wasn't anything like all the martial arts classes that Arthur had been made to take while growing up. Nothing like the principled, choreographed fights in Karate. Nothing like the pause and precision of making sure he had grasped someone exactly the right way in Aikido or Judo or Jiu-Jitsu before disabling them, throwing them, pinning them down. It was down-and-dirty street fighting, bare-knuckled punches and kicks and no-holds-barred, trying-to-kill and trying-not-to-die, but Arthur managed -- just barely -- to hold his own against someone with years of experience.

Years and years. 

Olaf must have realized that Arthur had him on youth and endurance alone, because he backed away from Arthur, reached into his coat, and pulled out his gun.

Arthur didn't quite piss his pants right then, but it was a near thing. He'd been around guns his entire life, but usually on the other end of the muzzle.

"Nothing _could_ happen, Olaf!" Arthur blurted out.

"Not as long as I'm alive!"

"You don't get it! I'm _gay!_ "

"What?"

Arthur licked dry lips and stood up straighter, ignoring the twinge in his side where Olaf had punched him. He held out his hands to calm the man. Or maybe to catch the bullet the way superheroes did in Hollywood movies, even though he knew those were all special effects. He could use special effects _now_. 

In the calmest, steadiest voice he could manage, he said, "Mister Niedermann. Nothing could ever happen between Vivian and me. I promise you. She's absolutely, one-hundred-percent safe with me. I'm completely, irrevocably _gay_."

That instant froze and stretched into infinity, because Olaf took forever to react or respond. As the seconds trickled by, Arthur found himself wishing that Olaf would take him out of his misery and pull the bloody trigger already.

Instead, Olaf's expression changed from abject, boundless rage to the dawn of understanding, and his gun lowered. "Oh."

"Yes, exactly," Arthur said, trailing off when he noticed the way Olaf's eyes glanced at something behind him. At _someone_.

Arthur whirled around. Morgana, Leon -- they were off to the side. Gwaine was protecting the beer keg. Perceval grimaced, and Kay stood by, torn between coming to Arthur's rescue and getting out before they were all on the receiving end of something uncomfortable.

Uther stood in the kitchen, his trench coat damp from the midnight drizzle, his carry-on luggage on the floor beside him, his briefcase in hand. After a long moment, he said, "Oh."

Arthur wished Olaf had pulled the trigger after all.

* * *

Olaf's apologies amounted to asking that Uther "send him the cleaning bill and the cost for any damages" and to give Arthur a curt nod that implied everything from _we'll talk later_ to _good luck with this one_ with a tilt of his head in Uther's direction. Olaf left the house with Vivian in tow, his coat covering up her indecency -- apparently, once liberated, Vivian's pert breasts hadn't wanted to return to the confines of her corset.

Arthur thought that was perfectly understandable. He was fairly certain that his cock wouldn't want to be compressed like that, either.

The rest of the guests had scattered once they realized the party was over -- _especially_ when a thunderous Uther stormed through the house and tossed out everyone, including the latest couple to have taken over the guest room. Leon, Kay, Perceval, Gwaine -- they had tried to stay behind, but withered one by one under Uther's stern stare. Morgana had been sent to her room, which by itself would have normally resulted in a spectacular meltdown. This time, however, she'd shut up and gone up the stairs without argument, casting a sympathetic look in Arthur's direction.

Uther wore a groove in the kitchen's wood flooring as he paced back and forth, his leather shoes squeaking with every turn. By the time he slowed down to stare at Arthur, Arthur's drunken buzz had evaporated even beyond the sobriety caused by the earlier adrenaline rush, and he was unpleasantly exhausted and sober. 

There was no way to tell what the Colonel was thinking, but there was no doubt in Arthur's mind that Uther was angry. The only question was what was he angrier about? The party? Arthur's declared sexual orientation?

He didn't think it was the party. It wasn't the first time that Arthur and Morgana had thrown a bash in his absence, and beyond a few disapproving _I know what you two were up to this weekend, even if I can't prove it_ looks over the dinner table for weeks afterward, Uther had never said nor done anything to punish them. Either way, Arthur had ammunition against his father -- proof that Uther had had similar escapades when he was younger -- that would soften any resulting punishment.

It had to be the other thing. Arthur knew that the Colonel hated surprises, and, well, this was one hell of a surprise. The Colonel had an entire staff uncovering information for him on a daily basis, but if he had already known about Arthur's preference, there was no way to be certain. Uther's face was a stone mask.

"When is the cleaning crew to arrive?" Uther asked.

Arthur blinked and squinted at the clock. "In a few hours."

"That gives you more than enough time to clean up the worst of it," Uther said. "No sense in giving them the brunt of the work when this was all your doing. You will, of course, pay them for the full amount of time that you booked them for."

"Of course," Arthur said, sighing inwardly. "What about Morgana? This wasn't just my doing, and they weren't only my friends. She should help clean up --"

"I'll deal with Morgana separately," Uther said.

"That's unfair!"

"Life is unfair, Arthur," Uther said. He turned away. "I am going to bed. See that I am not disturbed."

Arthur watched, dumbfounded, as his father _marched_ out of the kitchen. "That's all you're going to say?"

The Colonel whirled around and stalked toward him. "We'll talk about your... inability to act in an adult manner, to follow orders without supervision, and of the punishment you very certainly deserve for your indiscretions with young Vivian... tomorrow."

"Father," Arthur began, but Uther cut him off with a glare.

"There is nothing that you can say to me right now that will make it easier on you," Uther snarled.

Arthur breathed in deeply, gathering his courage. "I'm not looking for _easier_. I'm trying to tell you the truth. There was no _indiscretion_ with Vivian. There never would have been. I didn't lie to Mr. Niedermann -- although that would've been kind of brilliant, to be honest."

Arthur paused.

"I _am_ gay."

Uther stared. He worked his jaw. There was a snarl forming somewhere in there, but somehow, he managed not to make one when he said, "In the morning, Arthur."

"I think we should talk about it now," Arthur said weakly, his resolve flagging. He wanted to get it over with. He didn't want to have to wait until Uther wanted to talk about it -- because he was fairly certain that Uther would never want to talk about it unless Arthur pushed for the conversation, and _now_ had seemed to be a good time for it. Until now, that was.

They stared at each other for several long minutes before either of them spoke again.

"Is it me?" Uther asked abruptly. "Is it some sort of punishment? Some teenage game? Is it because I haven't been here enough? That I haven't been the father you wanted?"

"Oh, _fuck_ ," Arthur said, pressing the butt of his palm against a suddenly-throbbing forehead, and now he really was wishing that Olaf had shot him, or that he'd let the matter drop when Uther had given him the opportunity. "No. Dad, no. It's got nothing to do with you. It's me, all right? It's just what I'm like. I've always been this way. I mean, you must have noticed, I'm always around other men, I don't date --"

"Is it that Gwaine boy?" Uther snapped. "He's always been a pervert. Always talking out of the side of his mouth, bringing pornographic material to the house. He's always touching you --"

"He's always touching everybody," Arthur said with a soft groan. "He's a bloody equal-opportunity _flirt_ \--"

"I don't want you hanging out with him anymore, Arthur. He's deluded you, made you think that --"

"Oh, for _fuck's sake_ ," Arthur snapped, slipping from his stool so suddenly that he knocked it over. "It's got nothing to do with you as a parent, nothing to do with my friends. I was born this way, all right? I'm _gay_. I'm not some sort of deviant. I'm your _son_ \--"

"You're a _disappointment_ ," Uther said, and Arthur was stunned speechless. "All these plans that you had for your life -- now you can't --"

"I'm not dead! I'd hold off on giving me that heartfelt eulogy until I'm actually in a fucking coffin, Father! As for my plans --" The sting of hearing Uther's words stirred up long-suppressed anger. 

Hints that he was never good enough, that he'd never live up to Uther's lofty standards, that there would always be someone better than he was. For a long time, Arthur had _believed_ Uther, only to succeed again and again only to discover that it still wasn't good enough. 

Arthur couldn't forget all the times that Uther had pushed them, him and Morgana, to do more, to do better, to do everything. There were insane demands on their achievements, high expectations for their futures, and while Morgana had rebelled and fought every inch of the way, Arthur had done everything he could to attain those lofty, ridiculous requirements. But not this time. Not on this. He was an adult, he could leave home, he didn't need Uther's approval over whom he wanted to fuck, never mind over whom he wanted to love. "Nothing's changed! My plans are still exactly the same! I'm going to uni, and then --"

"What about the military? You can't be in the military in your condition --"

"My God, it's not a terminal disease! It's not catching! It's not, _Christ_ , whatever it is that you think it is --"

"Do you even know what it would be like for you in the military, Arthur? If your teammates find out that you're gay, they're not going to protect you! They'll harass you, they'll beat you, they'll leave you unprotected --"

"I'm not stupid! I'm not going to _advertise_. I don't own a single pink shirt! I don't have any of those rubber bracelets! I'm not getting a rainbow tattoo! And how are they going to find out, anyway? From a _blood test_? Or is there some special top-secret military weeding-out psych test that they make everyone take on to flag the _homosexuals_? God, Dad, I'm not going to hit on my teammates --"

"They'll get you on morale charges! They'll throw you out of service!"

"They can't. Not because I'm gay! They repealed the law." Arthur shouted back.

"This is going to ruin your life! We'll get you some help --"

Arthur stared. "Are you serious? Are you even listening to yourself? I have news for you -- if _Vivian_ grinding in my lap and shoving her breast in my mouth doesn't so much as give me a hard on, there's no bloody fucking way that some shrink is going to make me suddenly like girls --"

Whatever counterargument Uther was about to make, it died on his lips, and he blinked stupidly at Arthur. He opened and closed his mouth like a fish out of water gasping for oxygen, and it was some time before he realized how he must look and finally clamped his mouth shut. His expression twitched and he cleared his throat. "Her breast in your mouth?"

"Her breast in my mouth," Arthur said. He made a gesture over his chest. "Popped out of her corset."

Uther covered his lips with his hand. He turned away, his hand drifting to the back of his head, and Arthur heard a faint chuckle. At least, Arthur hoped it was a chuckle.

When Uther looked at Arthur again, Arthur didn't know what to think. His father, the Colonel, the undefeated, the battlefield commander that everyone respected, the leader of a successful corporation, the head of a new enterprise in weapons engineering -- he had aged twenty years in that instant. Uther took a deep breath and calmly said, "It's late. Go to bed, Arthur. We'll talk in the morning."

"What about the --" Uther's raised brow hinted that Arthur shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth. If Uther was going to offer an olive branch by not forcing him to stay up and to clean up the mess before the house cleaners arrived (however misplaced this courtesy was), Arthur was going to damn well take it. Still, he pressed on, wanting to know where they stood. "Dad?"

Uther looked at him for a long time. He slumped over the island in the kitchen, his knuckles white where he grasped the counter. He took a deep breath and released it slowly.

"I can adapt to a changing battlefield, Arthur," the Colonel said, his voice as stiff as his spine. "But even I need some time to digest new information and adjust my tactics."

"Tactics?" Arthur snorted, crossing his arms defensively. "If you're going to try to change my mind, or, I don't know, tell me that I can't follow through with what I want to do... Dad, come on. There's nothing to change. This is just the way it is. This is what I want. This is who I am."

"I..." Uther licked his lips. "I realize that."

"Then what?" Arthur had never thought that the Colonel would accept him with open arms and a clap on the back, and he suspected that this moment of calm was just that -- a moment. He saw a lot of shouting in their future, and it was a jarring realization, because the household entertainment had always been the rising timbre of Morgana and Uther's voices, trying to out-shout the other.

It was Arthur's turn, now, and the thought made him strangely content. A disorienting sense of balance came over him, as if he'd been climbing a rickety ladder or crossing a swaying rope bridge his entire life, and he'd only just found solid ground under his feet.

"I did hope for grandchildren," Uther said wearily, putting a hand on Arthur's shoulder.

"I'm not chopped liver, you know!" Morgana's yell drifted down from the second floor. "Plus, Arthur can always adopt. There's nothing wrong with that!"

"Morgana!" Uther closed his eyes, and, in a much softer tone, said, "Go to bed."

Morgana stomped all the way from the top of the stairs to the end of the corridor, slamming the door to her bedroom shut with enough strength to make the entire house shudder.

Uther's expression was long-suffering. "Is there any beer left in those kegs?"

"Probably not. It was a big party," Arthur said. At Uther's wistful nod, he added, "But I added an extra lock to the liquor cabinet. Just in case."

"Good. I need a stiff drink," Uther said. There was a long, hesitating, uncertain, even completely _unsteady_ pause. "Do you want to join me?"

Arthur didn't hide his surprise, and he thought that maybe there would be no shouting between them after all, that maybe they'd come to an understanding. Or, maybe, there would just be no more shouting for _today_. Either way, Arthur wouldn't -- couldn't -- complain.

"Yeah. I'd like that."


End file.
